Deceive, my Unrequited
by Acteon Carolsfeld
Summary: Shedding his title and memories, Orion Pax finds a second chance aboard the Nemesis. The Matrix is silent. Perhaps now, he can at last stay where he has always wanted to be. TFP - S.1 End; M/OP, MegaStar
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** Memory-Loss Optimus; eventual sexual content (not sure how explicit yet); certain headcanon elements; taking of liberties on the characterization of Orion Pax; exploitations on part of Decepticons; within-context ooc

Continuity: TFP, after battle at Earth's core (at the end of Season 1)

Pairing(s): Megatron/Orion; implied Mega/Star

Disclaimer: Do not own TFP.

* * *

"_Old friend, my old friend, don't make me cry._"

* * *

~Ch. 1~

Orion Pax opened his optics.

The shutters blinked, irises whirring, adjusting to the dim light.

A silver frame was walking toward him, a silhouette of sharp points and broad shoulders.

_Shling_.

The noise startled his fuel pump, thuds quickening, though he did not know why.

The mechanisms inside his wrists itched with the burn to transform, and a subroutine he did not recognize floated across a hazy pool of thoughts.

_Critical Priority Alert – Activate Plasma Blasters: Y/N._

Orion shook his helm, and let out a groan.

He looked up, vision clearing, and found a blade aimed at his neck.

"…Megatronus?"

He frowned.

"Where—…are we?"

He tried to think back. Pain struck his processors. He winced, swallowing a cry of hurt. He raised a hand. It shook. He rubbed the side of his helm, and straightened from his crouch on the ground, giving their surroundings a sweep.

"Old friend."

Orion looked up once again.

The blade had retracted. In its place was a hand, claws extended and palm upturned.

He took it, and allowed it to drag him back onto his peds.

His mind swam in a sluggish whirlpool of confusion. The world spun around him, and he swayed, bumping into dense armor that ached upon impact.

"Megatronus," His frown deepened. What was wrong with his voice? "I'm—…What happened?"

"Something I have always hoped for, despite the odds and the many eons we've been separated from each other," Megatronus's voice sounded different too. It rasped worse. "You have returned to me, my dearest friend." A smile of fangs. "And you are most welcomed."

Orion studied the taller mech. His lips parted to speak, but pedfalls interrupted, followed by loud calls by voices he did not recognize.

"Optimus!"

"What did you do to him?!"

"Step back, Megatron!"

Megatronus's claws tightened around his fingers. The gladiator's optics, now red, flashed alight. Orion felt his spark lurch. He knew that look. He clutched onto the warrior's grip, and pressed closer, fear prickling up his spinal-strut.

"Autobots." Megatronus growled low in his chassis, and his engine rumbled, the same way it did every time he prepared to gut an opponent.

"Au-Autobots?" Orion echoed in a whisper, optics stretched wide. He yelped when blaster fire sailed toward them, and ducked behind his protector, intakes hitching to a stop.

Megatronus raised his right arm. A cannon Orion has never seen before charged with a deep hum, and it fired, its recoil shuddering through the librarian. Megatronus did not slide even a split inch from the force. He kept shooting, and nudged the shorter mech back. A thick arm shielded Orion. He gaped in terror as the unit of soldiers – they must have been soldiers – charged toward them, undeterred by the gladiator's deadly blasts.

A swirling portal burst open behind the civilian. Orion jumped, and snapped around, drawing his limbs closer at the insistent pull of bright, spinning light.

"I-Is that—" He didn't get to finish his sentence.

"Go!" Megatronus shouted, and gave him a shove.

Orion stumbled. However, he did not question his protector. He leapt into the portal with only a cringe, and gritted against the disorientating yank at his core.

The light was blinding. His tank churned, half-empty, and a wave of nausea hit the back of his fuel intake, stuttering his vents.

He fell through, crashing onto his elbows. He groaned, and curled up on the now smooth floor. A series of clicks sounded around him. He glanced up through pinched optics, and startled at the barrels pointed at his faceplate.

"M-Megatronus?" He scrambled back, reaching behind him with an arm.

Megatronus landed out of the portal with a resounding thud, and cast him a stare, hand in a curt wave that lowered the blasters around them.

"Orion is no longer our enemy." The gladiator addressed the circle of identical bots. "Anyone who would dare lay a digit on him will answer to _me_." His optics, red like the smelting pits, narrowed.

The mechs facing them nodded, and shuffled aside, plastering themselves against the walls.

Orion took a look around. They were in a hallway, a wide hallway. The light was dim, tinted purple, and there was a steady hum in the air, a faint vibration in the floor. Orion realized, with a blink of optic shutters, that they must've been on a ship. The identical bots was probably the crew, and Megatronus seemed to be their commander, standing tall as he always had back at the arena.

"Where are my lieutenants?" The gladiator asked, wrist loosely held around his back.

"On the bridge, Lord Megatron."

Megatronus sneered. His optics flashed like the steely bite of a blade, and the bot who'd answered shrank back, pressing so hard against the wall that he might have bled through.

"Very well," The silver mech snarled. "Return to your previous stations. Your work here is done."

Orion watched as the crew scuttled away. Megatronus turned around, and once again offered his hand. Orion smiled, and wrapped his fingers around it. He was much steadier when he got up this time around. The floor did not tilt, and the fog in his processors had cleared, replaced by questions.

"Where are we, Megatronus?" The librarian asked, "Is this your ship? You've always wanted a ship, haven't you? What _was_ that portal? It couldn't have been a ground-bridge, could it? I didn't think Shockwave would ever manage, but I suppose I've underestimated him. Do pass on my apologies if that offends him, if he _can_ be offended. I know you don't like me talking to Weapons Development, so I guess this will do."

Megatronus listened to his babbling, as he always had. His gaze carried a tinge of thought, and his lips pursed, corners tilted downward. Orion trailed off, a little taken back at the expression.

"Megatronus?" He quirked his helm, brows furrowed. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No." Megatronus replied, and took back his hand. "Come, Orion. There are bots I want you to meet."

Orion stared after the gladiator, who had started striding down the hall.

"Okay." He said, and followed.

Keeping up with Megatronus was easier than he remembered.

* * *

The only mech Orion recognized, aside from Megatronus, was Soundwave. The Communications Officer may have changed alt-mode, but he still retained that silent, tranquil quality unique to his person, undisturbed even during the most brutal of bloodsheds.

And Orion has seen brutal bloodsheds, in the arena.

That was where Megatronus honed his resolve, tested beyond brink.

Orion only recognized Soundwave, so Soundwave, in return, was probably the only one who recognized _him_.

Everyone else made a target out of the librarian's helm.

"Weapons down." Megatronus walked into the controls chamber, a lazy wave toward his bots. The red one started back in a double-take, and the blue jet beside him frowned so hard that he might have very well suffered a glitch.

"Lord Megatron," He protested, hefting the thick barrel of his cannon-grade blaster in Orion's direction, "_Optimus Prime_ is right behind you!"

Megatronus paused. Orion scooted a little closer toward him.

"_Optimus Prime_ is not 'right behind' me," The gladiator sneered.

The red one and the blue jet exchanged a wide-opticked glance.

"Orion Pax," The silver mech announced, "is once again back in our ranks." His lips curled, baring his dentae, "Make him feel at _home_." He brushed the two aside, and strolled up to the large screen.

The blue jet looked like he was ready to drop into system failure. The red one, however, simply blinked, shrugged, and transformed the saw into his forearm.

"What's going on, Megatronus?" Orion trotted after the taller mech, cowering as he slipped past red and blue. "Why are bots calling me 'Optimus'? And a _Prime_?" He latched onto the gladiator's arm. "_Please_, don't leave me in the dark about this." He peered up at his old friend. "I understand the necessity of keeping me uninformed about matters that may upset me, but _this_—…this directly involves my person. Won't you tell me what's happened to me?"

Megatronus tilted toward him, features cast in shadow, optics a dim glow.

"_Why_ can't I remember when we'd gotten onto this ship?" The librarian insisted. "How did we even _get_ a ship?" He shook his helm, baffled. "My chronometer is completely fried, and the last thing I remember is us talking about negotiations with the Council. Did they concede to our terms? Have they finally listened to reason?"

Megatronus looked away.

"_Please_." Orion reached for the gladiator's faceplate, to turn the red gaze back to his own. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the floor, cheek stinging with the scalding burn of a back-handed strike.

He was stunned.

It hurt, the slap, but he could barely feel it, shivering as he looked up at the warrior, optics wide and lips apart.

Megatronus had frozen.

He stared back, jaw-joints visibly clenched, and his fists were trembling by his sides, a blade extended.

The chamber was silent.

No one even cycled a vent, bright optics gaping toward them.

Only Soundwave had his back turned. The slim jet tapped at a console, thin fingers skittering across the keys.

Orion's brows knitted.

"…Megatronus—"

"Orion-"

"-I'm sorry."

Megatronus blinked, taken back.

Orion dipped his chin, and hid his faceplate from view.

"You—You'd warned me about this, yet still I—…" He bit his lips, features in a grimace. "I'm sorry. No sudden movements – I _know_ this." He sent out a blast of air, and climbed back onto his peds. "Old reflexes. I understand." He rubbed his cheek, and smiled despite the sear of pinpricks stabbing into his derma. His vision blurred on the lower edge. "Don't apologize, my friend. That was my blunder, and I refuse to let you take responsibility for it."

Megatronus, for a long moment, only looked back at him.

Then he sighed, the gesture easing the agitated tension in his shoulders.

"Orion," He stepped closer, and draped a hand over the joint of the librarian's arm, "It's been eons since I'd last addressed you by that name." His gaze dropped. "The Council took you from me. They changed you. Pitted you against me."

Orion's optics widened.

"…What?"

"They weren't interested in negotiations." Megatronus spoke on, "They never had. They ambushed us when we'd arrived at the Great Hall, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't—" His optics squeezed shut, "I couldn't reach you in time." The hand tightened around the librarian's plating. "They reformatted you. Fitted you with a hollow matrix and declared you Prime to gain support from the masses." The gladiator snarled a sigh, helm jerking toward a shoulder. "They wanted _war_, so they needed a leadership figure. They thought that by using you, I would not retaliate." Another clawed hand reached toward the shorter mech, resting around his other arm. "For the first while…" The red optics flickered, "I couldn't."

Orion's spark clenched. Cold drenched through its core.

"They fed you lies. Filled your mind with hatred toward me, toward _our_ cause." The warrior shook his helm, faceplate lowered. "I thought…they had destroyed you, and that this frame, built upon your own, was just an empty husk – empty of _you_." The clawed hands brushed up his shoulders, and cradled around his jaws. "I thought I'd lost you, old friend," Megatronus stepped forward, "but _here you are_, once again by my side." His optics, red, molten pools, bore into Orion's wide, gleaming blue. "I should have never doubted your spirit." A smile spread across scar-laced derma. "I should have known you would come back to me, however long an eternity it seemed."

Orion looked back at his dearest friend.

He could barely breathe, intakes hitching in tiny spurts.

"…I'm sorry." He whispered, optics tingling with rising coolant. "I'm sorry I took so long."

Megatronus hummed a chuckle, and shook his helm.

"You are back now." The gladiator gave the back of his neck a squeeze, and stepped away. "Before long," He brushed his claws against the side of the civilian's arm, where etched a badge, "you will once again belong to _us_."

Us.

Orion shivered, spark swelling a wave of heat.

"Don't leave me again, old friend," The warrior smiled, a spread of fangs.

Orion smiled back.

"I won't," He promised, and clasped pointed digits into his own.

* * *

**Notes:** Reviews would be lovely. Thanks! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings:** Violence; inappropriate conduct; Decepticons being manipulative glitches

Disclaimer: Do not own TFP.

* * *

~Ch. 2~

Orion walked down the corridor, toward the medbay. He had an appointment with Knockout, the resident medic, and he was running late. Navigating the massive ship with only a map bare of instructions was difficult. He had to stop several times to ask for directions from the crew, who still looked a bit wary to talk to him. They were helpful, though, so the librarian was only a few minutes behind, sprinting through the door when it slid open.

"Doctor," Orion nodded as he stopped before the small mech, "I'm so sorry I'm late."

"Meh, wouldn't be the first." The red ground-bound shrugged a shoulder, and put down his datapad. It had image files of various sleek-lined alt-modes. "Well, _c_'mon." He waved Orion to follow as he strode toward the berths. "No need to be shy, Sweet Rims. Hop on and let Doc Knock take a good, long look." He patted the berth, other hand propped on a cocked hip. "A long, _long_ look." He smirked, and his gaze swept over the civilian's frame, engine a soft, low purr.

Orion felt his cheekplates gather with heat. He dipped his chin, and nodded, shuffling to the berth and climbing on top.

The surgical lamp overhead was blinding. Orion settled on his back, and watched the medic fuss around him. Knockout was humming a jaunty little tune, running a scan before scribbling something down on a notepad he'd picked up from a countertop. He felt around the librarian's chassis, and stroked his thighs, fingers pinching as though to test the resilience of the silver plating.

"Mmm, good…" The small mech hummed to himself. He put down the notepad, and pressed Orion's limbs flat against the berth.

"I—I'm not sure if I feel comfortable with this…" Orion frowned, and cast fleeting glances at the smirking faceplate.

"Nonsense!" Knockout's lips spread into a grin. "After what the evil, demented Autobots must have undoubtedly done to your poor, defenseless, Prime-ly person, this should be a race around the park." He strode around the berth, a bounce in his steps.

"Okay." Orion squirmed. "But…are the straps really necessary?" He looked down at himself, at the metal cuffs pinning him down.

"You kidding?" Knockout's optics flew wide. "Your systems might still have lingering hacks. I'm not gonna risk you ripping my helm off if I touched the wrong code, so of _course_ it's necessary." The medic took a small bottle off a shelf, and unscrewed the cap. He squeezed a large glob of artificial lubricant onto a palm, and spread them over his fingers, until they gleamed under the light.

"_Always_ necessary." The grin grew even wider as the red mech approached the berth. "Let's see how _oiled up_ these joints are, shall we?" He lifted his hand. The pointed digits spread, and sticky goo stringed between them, oozing down to the base of slender claws.

Orion bit his bottom lip, and tried his best to keep quiet. Knockout picked and probed. The librarian wiggled when slim fingers snaked into sensitive wirings, and swallowed a yelp at the tickling strokes against the base of his thighs. He didn't remember medical exams being this invasive, and the flickering glow in the medic's optics did not help. He didn't complain, however. Everyone else on the ship came to the same doctor. If they haven't made any comments, this must be the norm.

"Alright. All done." Knockout slapped him hard on the hip, and left a hand-print of lube. The slap hurt, but Orion didn't utter a word, merely sighing in relief when the red mech undid the straps. The librarian sat up, and rubbed the sting.

"Is this everything?" He asked.

"Medical wise, yes," Knockout lilted, wiping his fingers clean with a polishing cloth. "We still need to change that _awful_ insignia on your arms, though. They look _terrible_ on you. What were the Autobots thinking?"

Orion looked at the aforementioned badges. His lips pursed, and his brows furrowed.

"Yes, they do look terrible." His optics dimmed. "Please get rid of them."

"With pleasure," Knockout swirled around, a welding torch in hand.

Orion felt his spark lurch. He swallowed a bubble of nervousness, and pressed his back against the berth, a short groan bursting from his vocalizer at the first bite of flame.

The torch melted his paintjob, blistered his derma. His surface sensors popped under the heat, and his fingers tightened around the edges of the berth, squeezing so hard that his knuckles squeaked.

"Shouldn't you—…turn off my pain receptors?" Orion grimaced, words squeezed past clenched dentae.

Knockout paused, optics flashing as they zoomed in on his faceplate.

"Do you want me to?" He asked, voice as though an icy drench, devoid of all previous humour.

Orion looked at him, brows knitted, frame trembling.

He lowered his gaze.

"…No." He whispered.

"No, I want to feel it."

The pain.

The same one Megatronus must have felt when he was witness to a familiar faceplate on the opposite side of the battlefield for the very first time.

Knockout watched him.

The medic smiled, shadows bleeding down his pretty faceplate.

"Welcome to the winning team," The torch lit up his optics.

"…Orion Pax."

* * *

Orion stood on the bridge of the Nemesis, beside Megatronus, and watched the massive screen as it displayed clips of battle. His arms still throbbed, raw and tender where new insignias sat in place of old. He tried to enjoy the ache. It meant a new life, a shedding of his previous title.

However, the derma below the badges hurt.

His plating burned, pain drilling into cracked sensor nodes.

The screen flashed. It changed from a sweep of yellow to blurs of blue.

"This is Arcee, a two-wheeler," Megatronus gestured toward the femme slicing off the helm of a Vehicon. "She may be small, but she is vicious. She boasts of clean kills, to be swift and merciless. Her agility makes her a formidable foe." On the screen, the slim, blue Autobot leapt into the air, and dealt a sweeping kick while blasting a mech straight in the faceplate. "As you can see, she has a penchant for flashy acrobatics. She is troublesome. However, she is, by far, one of the more compassionate."

"_Compassionate_?" Orion whispered, intakes hissing a gasp. He couldn't decide if his old friend was telling a bad joke or being serious.

Megatronus did not elaborate.

"Bulkhead." He continued. The screen flickered, and new clips played. "He may look a fumbling brute, but what he lacks in intelligence, he makes up in violence." The bulky mech in the clip smashed his wrecking hammers together, and announced his forward charge with a growling bellow. "He was once an active member of an Autobot special task force – the Wreckers." The green-plated bot slammed an Eradicon into the ground, and pummeled the poor flier until his facemask shattered into a fountain of sparks. "You can guess from the name what they were for." Megatronus cast him a look, and the librarian nodded, feeling faint on his peds.

"The last Autobot currently on station here on this planet…" The ocean of video feed changed again, cutting off the agonized cry of a Vehicon, whose chassis caved under one of the wrecking hammers. "_Ratchet_," Megatronus clenched his fists. His optics narrowed, flaring slits of fire. "He is their commanding officer, a self-appointed medic. He rarely attends the frontlines. However, his cruelty sinks deeper, much more malicious than that of his underlings." The gladiator turned toward the librarian. "He was the one…who oversaw your operation." The warrior's vision dimmed, and his helm lowered. "He pried you open, and scraped you clean from inside out, until all that are left…" A clawed hand wrapped around the shorter mech's cheek, "…is this faceplate, and its optics."

Orion felt sick to his tank. The scorch wounds on his arms stabbed with pain. He kept his lips sealed, and bent forward, brows knitted and optics pinched.

"…I don't feel so good." He covered his mouth with a hand. Energon drained from his face.

Megatronus caught him by the arms, palms chafing against the insignias seared into his plating.

"Bring a chair." The silver mech instructed a nearby crew, and the Vehicon pattered away, returning with a stool.

"Must I watch more?" Orion sat down, features in a cringe.

Megatronus studied him.

"I will not force you, Orion." He said.

Orion pressed his lips together, and swallowed. He looked down, fingers tightening around the edges of the stool.

"What happened to Cybertron?" He asked instead, helm perking up.

Megatronus did not speak. He turned around, to Soundwave. With a nod from the gladiator, the screen dimmed, edges flickering with static as the Autobot medic faded away. Darkness bled through the vision field, from its corners. The entire chamber seemed to shroud, light dissipating, shadows crawling closer with tendrils that brushed against the librarian's peds.

Ruins.

Debris.

Shattered homes and toppled bridges.

The roads littered with dead frames, chassis open, limbs spread.

Walls that blossomed with webs of rust. Buildings crumbling after vorns of neglect, collapsing on their broken struts.

Orion watched. His lips fell apart.

His ventilation system froze, and what little warmth he had left in his spark cinched to nothing, the thuds of his fuel pump slamming ache into his gut.

"Our world, Cybertron." Megatronus wrapped his arms behind his back. "It fell dark, with the war." He watched the video feed, optics hooded.

If it weren't for the stool, Orion would have sunk to his knees.

"…_How_…?" The word shivered, a whisper of a breath.

"Death, devastation, the fire of battle," The silver mech answered. "When the council realized their imminent defeat, they burned their own cities, to stop us from freeing those under their rule."

Pain speared Orion through his center.

"All those people," He caved forward, "All of those lives…voices, _gone_." Brows pinching, he wrapped his arms around himself, frame trembling. "Everything…we'd _ever_ accomplished, rendered to nothing." The bottom edges of his optics blistered with budding coolant. "How could they…?" His gaze hardened. The grimace of his lips grew tight. "…_How could they_?!"

Megatronus looked at him, features overcast. Orion could see the red flicker of his optics, and the librarian felt a trickle of shame writhe in his spark, lowering his helm to hide his expression.

"Is this why…we're here?" The librarian asked, shoulders sagging.

"Yes," Megatronus answered. "This planet is rich in energon. It is referred to as 'Earth' by the dominant native species." He waved, and the screen changed again, its burst into light almost blinding against visual sensors. "They are organics, incapable of harnessing the power of our fuel." On the display, tiny creatures screamed and shot each other. "We Decepticons have tried to keep a low profile. However, the Autobots have befriended these 'humans', swaying them to the idea that we are here to invade their home."

Orion frowned as he watched the clips dominated by the spewing of red.

"Humans…" He echoed the word. "They seem…violent."

"Indeed," The gladiator replied. "Soundwave has conducted research on them. They are a young species. They have only required the most rudimentary of intelligence within the recent eon. Even amongst themselves, they despise each other. They are crafty at finding faults on which to place their hatred, which is why antagonizing us hasn't been difficult at all." The silver mech heaved a sigh. "Compared to the colourful Autobots, we might as well have labeled ourselves 'evil invaders of galaxies'." With a shake of his helm, the warrior chuckled, and waved again to dispel the images. "They are of little importance. Our war is with the Autobots, not with Earth's inhabitants."

That worried Orion. The organics looked tiny, and fragile. Should they be caught between a conflict of Cybertronians, they would undoubtedly perish. However, that was not something he should worry about. He was sure Megatronus had taken these matters into consideration.

"Orion, come." A clawed hand extended toward him. "There is something I would like you to do."

Orion took the hand. He swayed a little as he returned to his peds, but he felt a little better. Sitting down must have helped. He followed the gladiator out into the hall, and kept a note of where they were on the map in his processors. They arrived at a door, one close to the energon storage. It revealed an office when it slid open. They walked in, and the shorter of the two stalled at the view through a floor-length window, intakes in a small gasp.

The night sky stretched as far as optics could see, an ocean of clouds dusted with a shimmer of silver from the pale moon. The light streamed in, and gleamed against the polish on the floor. The room glowed with streaks of purple cascading from the edges of the ceiling. The monitor and console set, which was installed into a wall, activated with a quiet hum, a hologram popping up for passcode identification.

Across from the monitor was a lounging couch with a small table. Beside it, nestled in a corner, was an energon dispenser, with an automatic heating system. There was even a painting hung up, a landscape view of the Great Rust Sea.

Orion's optics widened. He trotted toward it.

"Is this—?!" He could barely contain the fluttering inside his spark chamber. "This is one of Sunstreaker's! From his early '_Untitled_' series!" The librarian turned to gape at the silver mech. "I'd only seen it _once_ during the Assembly of the Arts, from afar, wedged in a crowd. This is—" He swirled back to the painting, "_Please_ tell me this is real, Megatronus. Please don't let this be a replica." The grounder peered at the engraved signature. There was indeed a slight indent at the very end of the scribble of glyphs.

"Not a replica, old friend." The warrior chuckled, and strode up behind him, "I salvaged whatever I could from the great fires." An arm wrapped around the civilian's back, claws resting on his hip. "I found this in Praxus, buried under a museum." A thumb of calloused derma brushed against his plating. "I'd instructed the Vehicons to retrieve it from the vault. I thought you'd appreciate this small gesture."

Orion couldn't breathe.

His entire neural-net zoomed on the warm palm on his frame, tactile sensors tingling from the gentle mingle of EM fields.

Megatronus leaned closer. He dipped his helm, and smiled, optics as though molten lava.

"There is something that requires your expertise, Orion." He murmured, voice a hot, low rasp, engine rumbling inside his chassis. "You will help me, my _dearest_ friend," His gaze, hooded and heavy, bore into the librarian's, "…won't you?"

Orion could not move.

He could not speak.

His fuel pump galloped until he could feel every thudding beat travel through his entire body.

The smaller mech clutched his hands, to keep them exactly where they were, lest they reached and wrapped around the sides of the gladiator's faceplate. The scarred lips, tilted in a slight smile, were close, _so_ close. It would have been _so easy_ to guide the warrior down, and pressed him close in a—

Orion nodded, vents stuttering a burst of heat.

Megatronus's smile grew.

"Back in the Archives, you'd worked for Alpha Trion, correct?" His hand left the shorter bot's hip, and settled on a red shoulder. "There is a series of encrypted coordinates I would like you to decode." An arm around the librarian's back, the warrior led him to the console. "Energon isn't the only thing Earth harbors." A swift entry of a passcode later, the monitor blinked on, and filled with lines upon lines of broken glyphs and incomplete codes. "'_Iacon Relics_', they are called, but they are, in truth, weapons, designed by pre-war scientists and commissioned by the council."

Orion's spark lost its swirling warmth.

The gladiator's optics narrowed.

"We _must_ locate them before the Autobots, Orion." Megatronus said. "They will level this planet when they get their hands on the Relics, and we are running out of time."

Orion turned, and looked up at the taller mech.

"These Relics, are they that dangerous?"

Megatronus nodded. "So far, the war is in our favour." He pressed his lips together, and let out an ex-vent. "If the Autobots find the Relics first, however…" His hand fell from the civilian's shoulder, "That is my greatest worry. For all of us."

Orion bit his lips. He ignored the small pang of disappointment at the loss of contact against his derma, and turned toward his old friend, optics bright blue.

"I will give my all." He said. "I will start right away."

Megatronus looked a little surprised. He gave a chuckle.

"No need to be hasty, Orion."

"But we _do_ have the need," Orion replied. "We're in a hurry, are we not?"

The humour on the gladiator's faceplate disappeared. He nodded, expression grim.

"We do." The gladiator said, optics dimming. "I will leave you to your work." With a pat on a red shoulder, he walked toward the door. "If you have any questions, feel free to contact Soundwave, no matter the time. You will not be disturbing him." The warrior lingered at the threshold. "…Your work takes precedence over all other tasks, Orion." He paused, casting his gaze across the room.

"Understood." Orion nodded.

The door slid closed behind his old friend. The librarian turned to the monitor, taking a deep cycle of air.

He had no idea Alpha Trion had been keeping secrets from him. However, in hindsight, there had been no reason for the aged bot to inform him of everything. He was just one of many working at the Archives, after all.

Orion would do his job, complete the only work he _could_ do.

For the best. For Cybertron.

For Megatronus.

* * *

There was a knock on the door.

Orion jumped, and almost tapped a wrong key. Fortunately, he caught himself, and finished the sequence before turning toward the entrance to his office.

"Please enter." He called out. "It's not locked."

The door slid open. The blue jet, the one with the giant hand-held cannon-blaster, strode in, back straight and shoulders spread.

Orion shifted on his peds. He pressed his hands against the sides of his thighs, and dipped his chin, peering at the flier. The jet looked back, lips in a downward arch, optics red slits.

"I have come to realize that I have yet made formal introductions," He stated, stopping before the librarian, three steps away. "I am Dreadwing, Decepticon Second-In-Command, Lieutenant to Lord Megatron, military-division." He bowed his helm, the gesture stiff. "I…_apologize_," He grimaced, "for my hostility upon your arrival on the Nemesis. I had assumed you had Lord Megatron at gun-point. Therefore, I overreacted."

"Oh, no worries." Orion shook his helm, and raised his hands in an open-palmed wave. "I understand. It must've been—…confusing." He wobbled a smile. "It was for me. For both of us."

"Yes, it was." Dreadwing straightened. "You are now loyal to Lord Megatron."

"Of course," The librarian nodded. "I've always been. I would never want to be Prime." His gaze flickered down. "I would never want to betray Megatronus."

The jet did not reply. He kept silent and still, watching from across the room.

Orion fidgeted.

"Um…Did you want something?" He asked, fiddling with his digits.

"You've been inside this chamber for more than fourteen hours." Dreadwing answered. "Lord Megatron instructed me to retrieve you to the mess hall, where we will refuel."

Orion frowned, and looked up.

"Why didn't Megatronus come himself?"

The flier's fists clenched. The civilian scooted a startled step back.

"_Lord Megatron_ has _matters_ to attend to. Ones deserving of his time." Dreadwing's engine growled, words gritted. "Did you think he'd always be available for pass-time chit-chats?" The red optics flared. "He is _Lord_ to our Empire, and _you_," The jet's lips curled, "are an _archivist_."

Orion shuttered his optics. He lowered his helm, and looked at his hands.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." He said. "Archivist is just a prettier term. I'm really more of a librarian. I keep track of where everything is and how they're coded." His shoulders drooped. "I know I'm…undeserving of his time. It's just that Mega—…_Lord_…_Megatron_," The syllables were so foreign on his glossa, "He is an old friend I'd lost for-…for _so long_ I—" The grounder bit back his words, and inclined his helm toward the window, looking out at the clouds.

"…I know there is very little I can do in a war." Orion murmured. "I'm not a fighter. I never have been." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I can only hope to help, and stay out of the way." His gaze lowered. "That's what I've always done, being a weaver of words with a soft fist."

Dreadwing did not reply for a long time.

The air grew heavy, and the librarian squirmed, wondering if he should refuse the offer to refuel in the mess hall. The office has an energon dispenser. He could simply intake his ration here.

"If Lord Megatron has deemed you worthy," The jet blurted out, "you cannot be _completely_ useless."

Orion startled. He looked up, optics slightly widened, and flustered when he saw the flier glance away as though embarrassed.

"I-I suppose I should trust Lord Megatron's judgment of character." He smiled a little.

"So stop your pitiful whining." The lieutenant snapped, red optics a flash. "I'm here by command to get you out of this room, not listen to your self-depreciating prattle."

"I'm sor—"

A glare.

"-I-I mean," Orion shuffled, spinal-strut tensing, "Thank you. Thank you for trying to get me out of this room."

"Good. Now move along." Dreadwing tilted toward the door, and sent it a brisk wave. "We only have a few minutes before the rush starts. I hate waiting in line."

As it turned out, the rush began earlier on that day than others. By the time Orion arrived, trailing behind Dreadwing, the line had already curved around one corner of the massive hall, full of Vehicons and Eradicons chattering in tight little groups.

The happy murmur died down when Dreadwing entered, cutting to silence when Orion walked in. Visor slits followed them to the end of the line. The SIC didn't seem to notice, but the librarian, unused to such blatant staring, curled inward under the scrutiny.

A long moment passed. Blurts of mutterings whispered here and there. The Vehicons in front of them kept their backs turned. They shuffled forward when the line moved, and their arms pressed against the sides of their frames, shoulders rising in tension. A new wave of crew came through the door, laughing and joking with each other. They froze upon spotting the Lieutenant and his charge, and scuttled back out the door, the two at the front shoving their friends into the hallway.

The door slid closed.

Orion ducked his helm, and peeked at Dreadwing.

The blue flier did not acknowledge any of the antics. He strode forward when the line inched bit by bit, and kept his lips sealed, a firm line tilted slightly downward.

The door swooshed open. In sauntered a red, glimmering frame, hips swaying with each brisk patter of ped against floor. Knockout did not cast a single glance at the end of the line. He went straight to the energon dispensers, and shot a flash of optics at the Eradicon who stepped back a little too slowly. Vocalizer humming a small tune, he filled up two cubes, and sipped on one as he turned on his heels. He strolled across the mess hall. The door opened again at his approach, and revealed a crowd of bots idling just outside of it.

The medic paused. The crowd jumped back. For a split klik, Knockout stared at the Vehicons. He gave them a sweep, and uttered a snort, rolling his optics before walking away.

The door closed.

A moment later, it opened again.

A wave of crew sprinted in, visors pointed at the floor. They huddled behind Orion, and looked away when he glanced at them.

Bots started talking again. The silence inside the chamber eventually eased, melting into a warm murmur. Dreadwing heaved a sigh. The sharp angle of his wings lowered, and the jet gave his shoulder a roll, a hand massaging the joint.

"…Um," Orion scooted a little closer, which he instantly regretted when the SIC swirled around, and tossed him a sharp look.

"Yes?" Dreadwing asked, the syllable short and curt.

"Earlier, when Knockout…came in," The librarian spoke on, with much hardship. "He…went directly to the front of the line."

Dreadwing's optics narrowed.

"U—Um," Slightly alarmed, the civilian edged back, and blurted in a flurry, "I just thought that maybe that was the norm for high-ranking officers, which is understandable considering the time-sensitive nature of their work, being commanders of the ship."

The jet did not answer.

He sent the grounder a glare, and turned around, striding forward a few steps.

Orion wilted. He fiddled with his fingers for the rest of their wait, and mumbled a "thanks" when the flier handed him a cube.

They were supposed to be comrades, weren't they?

Friends, even.

Why, then, was this so difficult?

Did mechs not talk with each other anymore?

Orion followed Dreadwing into the hall. They walked through the ship, to a section unfamiliar to the librarian, and stopped before a set of gates, with heavy-duty locking bolts usually seen at vaults or bombing shelters. The librarian gaped, fingers tightening around his cube. His guide hasn't spoken a single word since their brief exchange in the mess hall. The jet simply stood there, peds shoulder-width apart, and his hand, the one not holding a cube, clenched into a fist.

"…Dreadwing?" Orion called out, leaning away as he watched the flier's back.

"Do you know where we are?" The Lieutenant asked.

"I—I suppose I could check on the-"

"This leads into the sparring gym, where my brother had once trained with me, vorns ago." Dreadwing said. "He's gone now. I'd felt the exact instance his spark gutted to nothing." He raised his fist, and seemed to study it. "We were split-spark twins. Do you know what that means?" His voice dropped, texture grainy.

Orion clutched his energon cube, optics wide, lips apart.

"…I—…I—"

"It _means_," Dreadwing turned. His engine stirred a low growl. "I know the face of the one who'd killed him," Red slits bore into the librarian's blue gaze. "…_Prime_."

The word hissed, spitting of sheer hate. Orion felt his intakes hitch, and he stumbled back a few steps, digits so tight around the cube that its enforced glass squeaked.

"Dreadwing—"

"-My _brother_," Dreadwing cut through his words, peds thudding against the floor as he advanced toward the librarian, "was the reason I chose to follow Lord Megatron." He spoke, tone soft, words a deep grind of syllables. "He was the one who'd shown me the way," His lips curled, "the _honour_ with which we must abide." He bared his dentae. "I don't know what _game_ you're playing, and I _don't care_." Shadows bled down the blue warrior's frame. "Fight me, Autobot." A roar of jet engines. "Be the price my _vengeance_," The red optics pierced, "or my _life_."

Orion's vision widened.

"Dreadwing—"

An energon cube hurled toward his helm. The librarian yelped, and ducked out of the way. It shattered against the wall, a splatter of blue that glowed in streaks. The grounder tried to straighten, but a hand grabbed around the back of his neck, and slammed him down, a knee ramming into the thin armor shielding his gut.

Orion wheezed. The impact knocked the air straight out of his vents. He grimaced, and clutched around his abdomen, the cube he was holding toppling to the floor. He wanted to speak, but a kick to the helm struck the thoughts out of his processors. His visual field burst into a film of static. He fell, on his chassis, and groaned, curling into himself.

"Fight me, Prime!"

Dreadwing's roar was a distant echo.

The world spun, and the librarian whimpered, knees folding.

A ped clanged against his back.

"Face me like a warrior!"

The voice was closer.

Claws seized him by the finial. The grip bent back, until pressure seared to pain, and the civilian cried out, neck cables craning backwards to accommodate the stress.

A fist flew toward him. The punch cracked his optic, and dented his cheek.

"S-Stop—"

Another crunching strike, and energon filled the grounder's mouth, liquid heat that spread thick over his glossa.

"_Fight_ me." Hot air beat against his audial. "Fight me like how you'd _killed_ him!"

Knuckles battered against his temple.

Orion couldn't see. His sensory network lit up with bursts of agony.

He tried to pry off the hand around his finial, and fend off the hits. However, he could barely tell Dreadwing apart from the shadows swallowing them whole, the corridor a blur of darkness, interspersed with glowing spots.

"Please…Stop…!"

His intakes stuttered.

"I'm not Prime…I'm not Prime!"

He shouted through the energon dripping from his lips, tank a frantic writhe of nausea.

A punch hurtled against the side of his helm. It crumbled the plating, a crisp buckle of derma. Fuel lines burst, and warm liquid washed down his faceplate, leaking into his shattered optic. It stung, like a torch into the cortex. Orion yanked at his helm to turn away, to escape the burn, but the claws around his finial was relentless, gripping so hard that they dug grooves.

"If you're not Prime…" A ped shoved him onto his back, "then who _are_ you?" The voice snarled, and the heel ground into the glass of his windshield.

"I—I'm Orion Pax…!" Orion trembled, hands grasping around the ped. "Please—P-Please…" He peered up at the jet, through optics that spat sparks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His lips quivered, stretched in a grimace. "I-I didn't—…I couldn't-" His brows furrowed. "I wasn't myself. If I could undo everything that's happened, I would. But he's gone. I'm so sorry, but he's gone."

The hits stopped.

The pressure against his chassis lessened a little.

Orion stayed as still as he could, a shuddering pile of parts on the floor.

He watched, through hissing static, as Dreadwing let go, and, slowly, backed away.

The librarian didn't dare move. He clutched his chassis, legs curling, and stared at the jet, vents hissing in puffs of air.

Dreadwing stared back.

He reached behind him, and unclipped his blaster-cannon from its holster.

Orion's breath stopped.

His optics stretched so wide that shards crumbled into the iris.

The flier lifted the weapon.

"W-Wait—please!"

Orion scrambled to crawl back.

The barrel charged.

"Please—don't—!"

The light gleamed against the floor.

"I'm sorry! Please! _No_—"

It fired.

Orion screamed.

The shot punched through his thigh, and melted his strut, leaving behind a hole of scorched derma and smoking muscle strands.

Energon spurted from ruptured fuel lines. Torn sensory clusters shrieked with feedback. Orion clutched his leg, and cried, faceplate drenched by a film of tears.

It hurt. He's never felt this much hurt in his entire existence. The pain was unbearable. He couldn't move his limb. His processors had been swiped clean of coherency, and all he could do was gape at the hole in his leg, lips apart as shivering cries of agony echoed inside the corridor.

Through the haze of buzzing pain, through the blur of coolant splattering down from his chin, he could hear Dreadwing, sheathing his blaster and turning away.

"Consider us even." The jet said, and bent down to retrieve a cube, the one Orion had dropped. He ripped open the cover, and drank it all in one gulp, throwing it down before crushing it with a stomp.

Without another word, the Lieutenant walked away, merging into the shadows hovering at the end of the hallway.

Orion dropped his helm to the floor. He squeezed his optics shut, and bit down hard on his lips, shoulders quavering as he tugged his limbs close around his torso. The wound on his thigh was bleeding still. Liquid warmth spread into a pool beneath him. His intakes hitched, and sobs burst through his vocalizer. He stayed there, hoping someone would come by. However, no one did. The corridor was silent, not another spark in sight.

Where was…Megatronus?

Orion sniffled, and onlined his optics.

Where was he? Why did he not come? Someone _must_ have heard.

The librarian hiccupped, and dabbed away the coolant on his cheeks.

He pushed up, slowly, mindful of the injury on his leg.

He shuffled to the wall, and stood up, shoulder scraping against the cold, hard surface as he braced his weight against it.

Helm lowered, he limped toward the medbay.

He didn't encounter anyone along the way, and brushed away the tears that would not stop flowing, a few plopping onto his windshield.

Knockout looked up as the door slid open. The small mech startled in a double-take.

"I fell." Orion blurted before the medic could ask.

Knockout pursed his lips. He jerked his chin toward a berth, and got ready while the librarian hobbled toward it, leaving a trail of energon on the floor.

"_Next_ time," The red ground-bound pattered toward him with a tray of tools, "fall more _carefully_." Red optics glanced at his faceplate.

Orion avoided the gaze, and sat down.

"…Okay." He whispered, and kept silent while the medic ran his scans.

Knockout started to work. He disabled Orion's pain receptors this time, and sealed off the leaks with expert efficiency, claws swift and welding precise.

"Alright, Sweet Rims. I'm gonna need you to lie down." The smaller mech gave his shoulder a push.

"My name is Orion Pax." Orion murmured as he leaned back. "I'm not Prime." He stared at the blinding surgical lamp. "I'm not Prime…I'm not Prime…"

His lips trembled. His fingers squeezed around the edges of the berth.

"I'm not Prime." He kept muttering. "I'm not Prime…"

Knockout turned off his torch.

"Can you stop?" The medic flicked a wrist, lips curled. "It's really distracting."

Orion looked at him, optics wide, unfocused.

The smaller mech blasted a sigh, and turned around.

"Here, drink this." An energon cube plonked onto his windshield. "It'll make you feel better. _And_ shut you up." Knockout smiled, helm quirked. "I got an extra one earlier."

Orion stared at the energon cube.

He caught it before it could fall, as the berth slowly rose to a slight incline.

He folded a corner of the cover back, and took tiny sips, coolant once again budding from his optics.

Within his chassis, a small heat stirred.

He didn't know what it was, but it faded away, a fragmented skitter of thought fleeting through his processors.

…_Optimus?_

* * *

**Notes:** Well, this ended up a little more violent than I'd initially anticipated. Can't say I mind it, though.

Many thanks for the reviews, _silv_, _Sounddrive_, _Qwertzu824_, _Andromeda Prime_, and _Chibi-Gai_. Really appreciate it!

As usual, feedback would be lovely. :)


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